


Love Me, Love My Dog

by Fitzrove



Series: Shadow Town [3]
Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Comfort No Hurt, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Paranormal AU, Sharing a Bed, Werewolf AU, a lecture by peter jakes, more petsitting you guys, werewolf Morse, when you date a werewolf you get both a boyfriend and a dog so it's a good idea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-14 06:36:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19267813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fitzrove/pseuds/Fitzrove
Summary: Peter insists on having Morse come over to his place for the full moon. He didn't quite intend on having an almost human-sized terrier (sorry, wolf) flop down on his bed, but turns out those make for pretty good pillows.When Morse wakes up with Peter's arms around him, he doesn't remember the last time he's felt this calm and happy after a moon-night.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Then I Locked Myself In With It](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19180891) by [jasmiinitee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jasmiinitee/pseuds/jasmiinitee). 



The moon was rising, and from the moment Morse had started wringing his hands and looking sheepish about whether he should undress already, Peter had known it wouldn’t be long now. He’d said that it was alright, multiple times, and replied with a steadfast _yes_ every time Morse asked if he was sure about staying. He’d done it before, and he could very well handle it again, especially now that Morse had taken his medication in time and they’d been pretty much prepared well before night started to fall. Peter had done his best to be as much of an obnoxious nagging bastard about it as he’d managed, until Morse had agreed to leave work early.

Morse still seemed worried. Maybe it was because things between them were… well, _different_ from how they’d been last time. ‘Different’ in this case meaning that had some bloke at the station started joking around about Peter taking Morse on dates, since they were sitting together at the pub a lot these days, he wouldn’t have been offended. Would’ve probably just had him smiling to himself all day.

Peter told Morse as much, now that it crossed his mind, and the poor sod managed a nervous laugh, covering his mouth with his hand soon after. The deep red that flushed up his face would’ve been funny at any other time, but the awkward stiffness they _both_ felt at the held-back bark made it just… sort of miserable.

And before Peter even properly realised it, there was that awful shiver and crack and sputter, like there always was, and Morse was on all fours and breathing heavily. Peter tried to suck up the worried frown that tried to make its way to his face, and when Morse lifted his no-longer-human head to look just past him with those awful, _glowing_ eyes, he didn’t flinch back. No sudden movements, Morse had said, and they’d both stay calmer. No direct stares, either, because it was a threat.

It was awfully similar to the instructions he’d got when he’d worked at the post, on dealing with less than friendly dogs. It felt terribly rude and wrong to compare sharp, brilliant Morse to some outskirt mutt, even when he clearly wasn’t quite himself.

Or maybe he was. Just a different sort of Morse, in a state where he still had that sharp mind working overtime, but just overwhelmed by the information he got through his nose. Different priorities, in a way.

It had taken Peter a long while to convince Morse to stay over at his place. Surprisingly, even with his sensitive nose, he hadn’t complained about the cigarette smell that had sunk into his walls practically permanently. Instead, he’d been worried about _not wanting to bother Peter_. Peter had had none of it, and after reminding Morse that staying at his place meant Peter would be the one to take responsibility for getting groceries in the morning when the moon had passed and waned, Morse had finally agreed.

“Morse”, Peter said softly. “It’s over now, isn’t it?”

Wolf-Morse blinked slowly a couple of times, before looking away from Peter to start the pacing he always tended to do, probably to get a sense of his feet again.

“Right”, Peter said, getting up from his chair. “I’m going to put on the record for you, alright? The left-side neighbour’s away anyway, on some other sort of moon business, and the other one’s just going to have to deal with it. La Traviata, wasn’t it?”

Morse let out a gruff, and even though Peter couldn’t really understand him, the way his ears perked up at his pronunciation of the opera’s name was unmistakable. Snotty bugger, even on the full moon. Peter grinned.

“Good”, he said, walking over to pick up the record Morse had brought with him. “Don’t worry, I’ll be real careful with it.”

Peter would’ve never guessed he’d actually sigh in relief as violin music filled his flat. No shrieky singing yet, but it would probably start soon.  
But honestly, how could he not be relieved, when Morse relaxed _visibly_ at hearing that? He turned his head to the record player, and even though he still didn’t have pupils (bloody weird, those moon-eyes, seriously), he tilted his head in curiosity.

“There you go”, Peter said, walking back to sit on his bed. Morse’s pacing had quieted down, and he was sniffing the air, now, or then just drawing in a deep breath.

After a while of just looking at Morse, who seemed to be getting at least a bit more comfortable in his skin, Peter decided to hold out his hand.

“Morse”, Peter said. “Come here, will you?”

Morse turned his ruffled head to look at him. Peter resisted the urge to make a clicking noise with his tongue. He had a feeling Morse _definitely_ wouldn’t have appreciated it if he remembered it in the morning.

Morse took a few tentative steps forward, and Peter tried not to let his hand tremble. It didn’t, and when Morse saw he wasn’t planning on pulling any tricks, he got close enough to snuff at his hand. (If Peter hadn’t known better, he could’ve sworn he saw Morse wag his tail at him just once before catching himself in the middle of it. Bloody hell, it was _weird_.)

“You do know how I smell”, Peter said, even though the whole thing was utterly _strange_ , Morse not on his feet throwing snappy comments back at him, but sitting down on the floor and _sniffing his hand_.

Morse let out a wet huff against the back of his hand, and even though Peter didn’t particularly appreciate it, it felt nicer than not getting any response at all. He needed some sort of two-way communication there, or else he’d just start thinking he’d gone crazy. It was still Morse, just… different.

After a while, Morse seemed to approve of him. Before Peter could think of it too much, he brought a gentle, careful hand to the back of Morse’s neck to pet him.

“I don’t know what I was expecting”, Peter said, brows a bit furrowed. “But probably should’ve realised your… _fur_ isn’t as soft as your hair. Even though the colours are awfully similar.”

Morse leaned against his hand, looking up at him with his odd white eyes. It wasn’t threatening, just curious, and Peter did his best to look as casual as Morse did. Just an ordinary night, nothing queer going on.

Peter got bolder, after a while of petting seemed to make Morse almost _happy_ , and scratched him behind his ear. Morse let out a content little grumble, and that was encouraging enough to make Peter put both of his hands on his… shoulders, running his hands down them to rub at his sides.

He even touched Morse’s cheek, when he wasn’t as afraid of the teeth, though he probably shouldn’t have done that. When the back of Peter’s hand was close enough (or too close, depending on how you looked at it) to his round wet nose, Morse gave it a gentle lick. Peter was left staring in shock.

“Jesus Christ”, Peter said, not knowing if he was choking with laughter or tears. “I’m just going to… alright, then. Alright, Morse.”

Morse didn’t seem to get what he was fussing about, and he would’ve probably just licked him again, if Peter hadn’t pulled his hand away to keep on petting him. Maybe Peter was part of the bloody pack then, now, or something like that. It was sweet that Morse trusted him that much, in a way, but Peter would’ve also been a whole lot happier if he _hadn’t_ ever found out what Morse’s wide wolf-tongue felt like on his skin. It was _bloody fucking weird_.

“... thanks for the honour, at least”, Peter muttered. “But I’m never going to let you forget this. Sweet Jesus.”

He thought it best to draw his legs up to the bed. After Morse had stared at him for a moment, the moustache making him look like he was pulling a sad face at being _abandoned_ like that, he gave up.

“Jump up”, Peter said. “It’s alright, now that I’m sure you haven’t been running around in a muddy field or something. Keeping you company is one thing, but you can be damn sure I’m not going to be washing your _paws_ for you anytime soon.”

Morse whined at him, but didn’t think twice before putting his… paws… on the edge of the bed. Peter backed down - he didn’t want to get clawed at, no matter how friendly and calm Morse currently seemed - and let Morse jump to the bed in a ginger flash of fur.

“There you go”, Peter said. “I’ve got a feeling you’ll be better off without a blanket.”

Morse treaded the mattress a bit, as if to check it was a safe ground to lay on, before settling down and resting his head on his paws. Not palms, _paws_ , almost, but not quite. At least he wasn’t looking outright miserable now, just a little thoughtful, like he often did. It was still bloody weird, seeing a very familiar expression on a face that most definitely _wasn’t human_ , but wasn’t quite wolfish either. Of course, Peter might’ve been imagining things based on the whiskers, but it was still almost uncanny.

Once Peter was sure Morse wasn’t going to get up and start pacing around again, he pushed himself up from where he’d backed down against the wall, sitting up to reach his hand out. Morse looked at him, even though his ears were still firmly turned towards the record player. It made Peter smile. It was pretentious and snotty, alright, but it was better than the nervous doorside guarding Morse usually did.

Peter looked at Morse warily one more time, to make sure he wasn’t going to bite his hand off after all, but when Morse simply gave him a defeated huff through his nose, Peter crouched down to pet him again.

His fur was almost golden, if you could get the light to hit it in the right angle. Rust-coloured, really, but there was something unnaturally deep about Morse’s colours, just like his eyes were such a wide white that Peter still got a bit uncomfortable each time he noticed them. Even Morse’s shadow seemed darker than usual, even though Peter knew it was probably his mind playing tricks on him. After all, Morse’s shadow was _so different_ from what it normally was that it was almost painful to try to wrap his mind around it.

The muscles beneath weren’t quite as tense as they sometimes were - Peter hadn’t exactly gone around petting werewolves before, but he’d seen it in the way Morse walked - but they weren’t completely relaxed, yet. When Peter gently rubbed at Morse’s side, he frowned at how easily he could feel his ribs.

“You really should take some tips from Strange, mate”, Peter said. “You scrawny sod. I’m getting worried about you.”

It was so much easier to say it when he wasn’t faced with an immediate denial, Morse rushing to say he had no idea what Peter was talking about. His expression was still the same, eyes downcast and the corners of his mouth falling, if that was even possible for a terrie… wolf.

Morse let out a long sigh, probably all the air in his lungs rushing out at once. He turned completely to his side, and Peter had to scramble back when he stretched out his back legs a bit.

“Hey, don’t fall off”, Peter said. “I’m glad you’re getting comfortable, though.”

Morse let out a grunt, his cheek against the mattress. Peter thought that it was a good time to get his book from the nightstand. It wasn’t that late yet, and turning on the telly might’ve been distracting to Morse, so might as well leaf through the rest of _Evil Under the Sun_.

After a moment of reading, a crazy, reckless thought crossed Peter’s mind.

“Morse”, Peter said. Morse recognised his name, but was too exhausted to lift his head all the way, instead just looking at him and letting out a displeased ruff at being bothered. Sure, as if lying on Peter’s bed was very important business that required a lot of thinking.

“I’m going to try something, alright? Don’t bite my head off”, Peter said.

Morse wasn’t _uninterested_ , but the fact that he seemed to understand was enough to convince Peter to go ahead. He took his book with him, and got closer to Morse, before lying down and resting his head on his side like the bugger was a pillow. Morse let out a surprised growl, but it was the type of friendly, unbothered sound that you could sometimes hear when it was too close to the full moon and Morse came up with a solution to a crossword.

It was surprisingly comfortable, even though Peter could feel Morse’s chest rise and fall. His breathing was evening out, though, and the soft huffs Morse sometimes let out made him smile.

“I’ve a feeling you’d call this rubbish if you could. Otherwise I might read to you”, Peter said. “Might have to get some pretentious poetry next month. Words of love.”

He grinned at the thought (and the Beatles reference) as he reached behind himself with his hand to pet Morse’s head, then scratched behind his ear again. Morse leaned into the touch, and when Peter turned his head to look, Morse had actually closed his eyes for a moment. It made his heart flutter, how _peaceful_ he was looking.

Peter petted Morse absentmindedly while reading, his shoulders and the back of his neck and the top of his head.

He was a really good pillow, to be honest. Bigger than a dog, even though his fur was a bit too rough to be entirely comfortable. It still smelled good, pretty much the same as Morse’s hair normally did, but there was something else, too. The moon, Peter would’ve said, if it had made any sense. A pinewood forest, earth and moss and northern wind.

Morse yawned, at some point, a funnily loud sound, and it made Peter laugh. Morse looked disapprovingly at him, almost as if he was demanding to be taken seriously, but went back to being petted and occasionally snuffing Peter’s hand while he was at it. After a particularly good scratch, Morse licked his hand and wrist again. It wasn’t as weird as it had been last time, but it was still _pretty bloody weird_.

“Morse, oh my God”, Peter said. Morse just grunted at him, as if telling him to shut up.

Peter had got to the last page before he realised Morse was being awfully quiet all of a sudden. When he sat up, he realised Morse had _fallen asleep_ at the foot of his bed, his eyes closed, his gangly furry limbs completely relaxed. Peter almost didn’t believe it until he heard a soft snore. It made him smile, and he made sure to get up carefully, to not disturb the poor bastard.

He’d still have to eat a little something before bed, and probably have a smoke, too, no matter what Morse and his fancy nose said about the smell. He’d open a window and lean out into the night, even though Peter would’ve honestly preferred to look at Morse, curled up in his bed with his tail wrapped around himself.

Even though it still felt bloody weird, it had also become weirdly sweet, at this point. Sleepy Morse was always heartwarming to look at, simply because of the way the crinkles on his forehead smoothed over and the sad twist of his pouty mouth turned into something softer. Now that he was sleeping that soundly on a full moon, the sort of night on which he was usually more restless than ever, it was even more of a relief.

Peter would have to make sure they could grab something in the morning the moment Morse was back to… well, back to being his prickly, snotty most-of-the-time self, instead of the worried ginger moon-creature he was now. It was important, since Morse wasn’t going to eat anything tonight, and even if the man himself would’ve probably said that it didn’t matter, it actually mattered quite a lot. They could go buy some more groceries after, or maybe Peter could do that himself and let Morse sleep it off for a bit longer, as soon as he was convinced he was safe to do so.

He cooked up a simple sauce and boiled potatoes and smoked a fag while he was at it, reasoning that it was better to do that sooner rather than later, even if Morse sniffed a bit at the combined smell of ash and supper. Maybe it was good that he wasn’t awake right now - Peter didn’t know if he could’ve handled watching that moustached almost-familiar face while Morse sat down on the floor and _begged for food like a dog_.

Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that anytime soon. It was one thing to pet a bloke and another to feed him out of your hand.

The clock ticked on, and from the spot at the table where he’d moved to with his book, Peter kept glancing at the relaxed figure on his bed. Morse’s breathing was quiet and even, and for some reason, the whole situation tugged at his heartstrings for a bit. Oh Lord. He was really getting emotional over sleepy Morse, and he wasn’t about to deny himself the warm fuzzy feeling it brought on.

And so, when he couldn’t find anything else to do, Peter shut the blinds, changed into his pyjama trousers and took off his shirt to neatly hang it up. Might as well go to sleep early, so he could avoid being groggy when Morse woke up. Mornings were always a bit difficult for the poor bloke, but even more so after the full moon. For some reason.

There was some tawny fur attached to the back of Peter’s shirt, probably from when he’d leaned against Morse, and it made him raise an eyebrow. He would’ve probably rolled his eyes had Morse been awake and aware enough to see it, but it was also very _funny_ to him, in all its oddity. He’d just need to give Morse a hard time about it the next morning. He couldn’t wait.

But dating a werewolf wasn’t all moonlight and roses, as Peter found out soon enough. Getting to bed required a lot of maneuvering that it normally didn’t, and he couldn’t even complain to Morse about it, because he didn’t want to wake the poor sod up. So grumbling under his breath it was, as he tried to figure out a polite way of squeezing himself around a werewolf - albeit a scrawny one, but _still_ \- who had also apparently decided to trust Peter’s bed enough to roll over on his back. Good for him, but it made things more difficult than they had to be.

After pondering it for a moment, Peter just pulled off the covers the best he could. Morse shifted in his sleep, letting out a displeased grumble. The bedspread didn’t come off as neatly as it could’ve, instead crumbling up at the foot of the bed, but Peter managed to kick it far enough away that it wouldn’t bother them.

Getting Morse to roll over and make room without startling him wasn’t easy, but Peter managed, with careful hands and gently whispered curses. He needed to arrange his legs a bit when he finally slipped underneath the duvet, to position them so that he wouldn’t end up kicking at Morse when he inevitably tossed and turned.

Peter got comfortable enough, eventually, even though there was a nearly human-sized terrier-wolf in his bed. Morse’s back legs were pressed up against his side a bit uncomfortably, but at least Peter could easily reach over to pet his shoulders if he wanted to. (And he did.)

“Goodnight, luv”, Peter said, before turning off the bedside lamp.

The only response he got was a long, tired huff, but Peter guessed it was as good as any. At least it made him smile to himself in the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm somehow so very happy about the fact that this exists!!! Credit for coming up with terrier Morse (and writing some SUPER GOOD fics about him) goes, of course, to jasmiinitee. Sorry not sorry for hijacking your AU. XD
> 
> Who knew that cuddling ginger terrier Morse would be so sweet? I certainly didn't, but here it is. Hope you enjoyed too - comments and kudos are appreciated if you did! <3
> 
> Chapter 2, from Morse's POV, will be up when I finish it. It just needs some retouches, so hopefully soon :D


	2. Chapter 2

Morse woke up with his cheek pressed against a surprisingly firm pillow, one that smelled quite thoroughly of pomade and faintly of a detergent he never used himself. The thin blanket against his bare skin didn’t quite warm him up, but luckily, something else very much did.

There were faint remnants of oversweet cologne on Peter’s neck, where Morse had buried his nose, and the arms around him were warm and strong, though still sleep-soft. His scent was all over the place, in the air around them, and the only reason Morse hadn’t noticed it before was that it was so familiar. He’d come to expect it, and it felt natural.

Then, Morse actually got his eyes open, and realised what day it was. Or more precisely, what night it had been last night. It must’ve been pretty late already, since the last itches and pains of turning back were practically gone. He was still a bit more hairy than usual, especially his arms and chest, but even the rest would probably pass in an hour or so.

Waking up naked in Peter’s bed wasn’t exactly a _new_ experience for Morse, but _waking up next to someone after a moon-night_ was something he’d never even considered happening. And there Peter was, sleeping soundly next to a bloody _werewolf_.

Morse remembered bits and pieces of last night. His medicine wasn’t anything overly strong - not a terribly high-dosed sedative, that is - so it wasn’t like it knocked him right out when he took it. It just made the otherness and the _alertness_ easier to bear. He wasn’t jumping out of his skin all the time, and even though the nights were still uncomfortable, it helped a great deal.

 _La Traviata_ was playing in his head. The second act, Violetta’s aria. Peter had kept his promise, then, even though Morse had a vague memory of hearing a horribly mangled pronunciation of the opera’s name. Didn’t seem unlike Peter at all.

He tried to sit up, curious to as to why exactly he wasn’t feeling as restless as he usually was after a wolf-night, but actually almost _well-rested_ instead. However, Peter stopped him before he could.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Peter asked, voice still a bit hoarse from sleep. It was like that practically every morning. That’s what happened when you smoked like a chimney.

The words came out as a sigh against Morse’s cheek, and when Morse didn’t say anything right away, they were followed by a soft kiss at the same spot. Peter leaned back on the mattress, holding onto Morse’s waist just a bit tighter as his eyes fluttered closed once more. It was very convincing.

“Nowhere”, Morse said.

“Good”, Peter said. “I like you here.”

Morse really wasn’t one to sleep in the nude that often. Even when the weather was hot, which it most clearly wasn’t right now, he tried to survive without taking everything off for as long as he could. It was just a personal preference. It wasn’t like Peter minded, either way - if he thought Morse was wearing too much, he’d just slip his hands under his vest or the waistline of his trousers and keep them there.

“My feet are cold”, Morse said, when trying to make sense of what exactly had calmed him down so much last night seemed like too much thinking for so soon after waking up. Peter groaned, but pulled his pyjama trousers up anyway, to let Morse slip his feet between Peter’s calves to warm them up.

“That’s your own fault, you know”, Peter said. “You fell asleep on my bed pretty early on. Wasn’t going to try and haul you off the blanket, and you would’ve got too hot under it anyway, so I just slipped in and made do. Of course, that didn’t work out when you started shivering early morning, when you lost the fur. Had to get up and fetch a spare.”

Morse felt a blush creep up his cheeks. It made Peter smile, and even though Morse was altogether very embarrassed, he liked it when Peter leaned in to kiss him on the side of his nose. He was still avoiding the moustache, which made Morse roll his eyes, but it was sweet anyway.

Everything was as it should, really. Peter’s dark hair was broken away from its careful style, and he was looking _happy_ to be where he was as he held Morse close. Tired, but happy.

“What else did you do?” Morse asked. “It’s just… feels odd. Sleeping is hard, with the moon, but last night it wasn’t as bad.”

“That’s good to hear”, Peter said, bringing a hand to Morse’s cheek. “Was more you than me, to be honest. Take a guess.”

Oh no. _Oh no_. Hopefully nothing horribly embarrassing, or Peter would _never_ let him live that down.

“Oh my God”, Morse groaned, trying to cover his eyes or at least turn away in shame, but Peter wouldn’t let him. He was grinning like a bloody maniac, clearly enjoying the situation way too much for his own good.

“Don’t tell me I fell asleep on you”, Morse said, with a sharp sigh. Peter chuckled.

“Almost did, but not quite”, Peter said. “We had a good time, honestly. I scratched behind your ears and you liked it. We listened to that opera bloke. And you make a pretty soft pillow, so I’ll forgive you for giving me a hard time fitting in my own bed.”

“... that’s all?” Morse asked, still a bit wary, and what Peter had said did nothing to make his face burn less. Peter’s hand slipped down, to stroke his cheek and then his collarbone, and he leaned closer until his lips almost touched Morse’s.

“No”, Peter said, very casually, but with a wicked look in his eyes. “You also licked my hand. Bloody weird, man. I’d tell you to keep your tongue to yourself, but it was sort of sweet, so I won’t.”

Jesus Christ.

Morse stared at him, mortified, and he had to close his eyes for a moment. He took a deep breath before he could even begin to process that information. His face was probably a deep red by now, judging by the way it felt like a bloody fireplace.

“... you must’ve seemed trustworthy, then”, Morse said. “It’s a pack thing, if we go by science, crazy as it seems. Helps with -”

“Just admit you love me”, Peter said. “That’s what it felt like, you whelp.”

The word stung a bit, but Peter said it so tenderly that Morse’s face was now red or an entirely different reason. He looked up at Peter, whose dark eyebrows were cockily quirked and lips drawn to a smirk, and thought of his response for a while. It was hard not to get lost in Peter’s eyes, but he managed.

“Guilty as charged”, Morse muttered. “You’re very lovely. But don’t call me that.”

“Sorry, luv”, Peter said, voice surprisingly genuine. The look he gave Morse was almost _chaste_ , his eyes flicking down to Morse’s lips for a moment. “So are you. I love you. A lot.”

Morse looked at Peter for a second, stunned, and didn’t have time to say anything more before Peter kissed him. It was good and deep, and even if it was desperately unfair for Peter to be dressed (albeit lightly), Morse very much liked the way Peter held him close and let him smell and feel his breath and heartbeat. The worried buzz at the back of his mind was slowly quieting down, and Peter’s hands were gentle at the back of his neck.

“You should know that you’ve got nothing on me from now on”, Morse said. “I’m not the one who crawled into bed with a shifted werewolf.”

Peter actually chuckled at that, and as if on cue, his hands were creeping down Morse’s back to settle at his hips. He didn’t go any further - such a gentleman, honestly, Peter “Not A Horny Bastard” Jakes - and Morse scoffed at that. (He almost wished Peter _would’ve._ )

“Oh, piss off”, Peter said, but he was still grinning, and Morse couldn’t help but run his hands down Peter’s chest. “If we’re going down that road, I’d like to remind you that at least _I_ don’t go around licking people like that. I swear, you’re just desperate for petting, full moon or not. I don’t know what I’m going to do with you.”

“But you do go around licking people”, Morse said. Bugger it - if that was the way the conversation was heading, he might as well tease Peter a bit when he had the chance. His hand travelled down, reaching to play absentmindedly with the string of Peter’s pyjama trousers, and he managed to undo the knot before Peter grabbed his wrist to prevent things from getting out of hand. (He did also pull Morse closer, to whisper in his ear.)

“Sometimes, yeah”, Peter said. “Come here, you. We can lie around for five more minutes, but then I need a fag and you need some proper food. Chop chop.”

Morse wasn’t the type to say no to a snog like that, just having got through a moon-night or not.

 

The embarrassment came after, when both the drowsiness and the pleasure had faded, and he sat up to see that there was quite a bit of russet fur on the covers at the foot of the bed. Some had stuck to the sheets as well.

“Oh. I should get a lint roller for next month”, Peter said. Morse let out a frustrated huff, shoving him down to the bed one more time to kiss him thoroughly enough to shut him up for a while. Peter didn’t complain about it - to be honest, it seemed like he appreciated it quite a lot. Sometimes it was hard to tell whether Peter was legitimately being an arsehole or just doing it to work Morse up.

“Or then I might just brush my hair beforehand”, Morse said. “Seems like less work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sleepy Morse makes me weak and I'm not even ashamed to admit it. XD
> 
> Thank you so much for the amazing comments on the first chapter <3 Hope you liked this one too!!


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